


Greek Infusion

by lovemuppet



Series: Minor Gods [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barbarian Dean Winchester, I don't really know anything about how greek gods work, King Dean Winchester, M/M, Prompt Fill, minor god castiel, not historically accurate, who is top? who is bottom? who can say?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26399113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovemuppet/pseuds/lovemuppet
Summary: “Who are you? Who calls me,” the barbarian asked in confident but broken Greek. Up close, he smelled of blood and sweat, and man. Castiel was almost too overwhelmed to speak. He looked up into eyes laurel green eyes, hard and alive. “Who are you,” the barbarian demanded again.Castiel is a Minor god of kings and son of Ares. Dean is a barbarian king and the meet on the battlefield.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Minor Gods [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920487
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Greek Infusion

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaned it up and took it from my Tumblr:  
> https://haybibiboi.tumblr.com

A great war had broken out in Delphi between the Greeks and the Barbarians to the north. Castiel, son of Ares, had joined his father on the battlefield. They had taken to spectating now, the Greeks were overwhelming the small contingent of Barbarians. Castiel was not a god of war, he was merely the god who watched over kings. But, that he could see, there were no kings on the battlefield.  
  
He wondered why the hell he had been called here.   
  
Suddenly, off in the distance, there was a rallying shout. The battle-weary barbarians answered the call. Ares uncrossed his arms and looked over the horizon and Castiel watched too from his seat at the foot of his father. A large horde, three times the size of the barbarian contingent that had pitched battle with the Greeks came charging through. Ares sprung to his feet with a growl. “You, boy. Stay,” he commanded Castiel as he leapt into the fray. Castiel sighed. He wasn’t one to disobey a direct order, but his butt was starting to fall asleep from all the sitting. 

The barbarians now were chanting as the tides of the fight changed, their refreshed numbers giving them the advantage. Castiel yawned and nearly settled in for a nap before he caught his eyes on a human. A barbarian. And not just _any_ barbarian.  
  
His insides went as tight as a drum and pounded like a heartbeat, echoing through his whole body.  
  
_A King.  
  
_The barbarian king worked his way through Greek soldiers mercilessly and with great skill. Bodies littered the path he was taking. “Come to me.” Castiel murmured. He watched the king pause slightly as he pulled his stolen Grecian sword from a soldier. The king looked Castiel’s way, noticing for the first time a spectator to the battle.

The drum inside of Castiel got louder. “Come to me, King of Barbarians.”   
  
The Barbarian king hesitated, looking into the chaos between them, righteousness burning bright like a torch flame in the Underworld. _His men were in peril he would not come_. He shook off Castiel’s command but slew a soldier or two with increased vigor.  
  
Castiel’s mouth watered as the barbarian king disemboweled an opponent in a single swipe of his arm. He needed this human for his own. “Come to me, King of Barbarians, and _I will end this battle_.” The king’s head whipped around again to Castiel and he broke into a run towards the god.  
  
Castiel looked over the battlefield. His father would be angry, sure, but it was just one battle. Before the king could reach Castiel, he had smote half the Grecian forces in a blink. Ares howled.   
  
“Who are you? Who calls me,” the barbarian asked in confident but broken Greek. Up close, he smelled of blood and sweat, and _man_. Castiel was almost too overwhelmed to speak. He looked up into eyes laurel green eyes, hard and alive. “Who are you,” the barbarian demanded.   
  
Castiel rose to full height, delighted to find he was an inch or so shorter than the barbarian. “I am the god of kings.” The battle was quickly ending. Ares had left in anger, gone back to Olympus, to Zeus, most likely to complain. It would go nowhere. The king of Gods had owed the God of kings for keeping his most recent affair confidential.   
  
The barbarian folded strong arms over his taut, muscled chest. Castiel fought to keep his eyes from crossing in lust. His forehead was pinched in concentration as trying to remember his own gods. “I know you not.”   
  
“Would you like to know me?” Castiel asked, putting a hand on the shoulder of the king. Green eyes dropped down to Castiel’s lips, blonde hair shone like wheat in the afternoon sunlight. Castiel smiled soft and open.   
  
The king looked again into Castiel’s eyes assessing the danger. Castiel knew he would find it there and that it would call to him as it called to all kings. It wasn't a surprise to the god that the king stepped closer, transfixed almost. “Yes. I want to know you.” He blinked and with a chuckle, asked, “What are you called?”   
  
“Castiel.” The god slipped the thick fur stole from the king’s shoulders. It crashed into the grass quietly, the noise sent shivers along Castiel’s skin. “What do they call _you_?”  
  
“Dean.” He murmured, fiddling with the clasp that kept Castiel’s cloth around his waist. When it sprang open on accident the king’s eyes, _Dean’s_ eyes, widened. He made a noise halfway between apology and arousal and tried to close it again. Castiel chuckled and reached a hand down to stop him pulling Dean’s hand away from the clasp and to his face to kiss his palm. The cloth slipped down and pooled at his feet.  
  
He stood proudly naked.  
  
Castiel could see Dean’s pulse beat through the skin of his neck and Dean’s eyes drug themselves along with that which he could see of Castiel and brought his hand down along Castiel's side. The king searched Castiel’s face for direction. “Be mine, Dean. Be mine and I will help you and your people as long as you live.”   
  
At this whatever spell Castiel had been trying to cast, whatever attraction had snared lesser kings in the past, snapped and broke before it could be cast properly.  
  
Dean threw his head back and laughed.  
  
It was beautiful but annoying. Dean wiped his eyes of tears. “Who are _you_ to promise _me_?”   
  
Castiel rolled his eyes. “I am the god of kings.”  
  
“There is not one.”   
  
“I AM!”   
  
“As you say, cast-casti-Cas. As you say.” He said something in his native tongue that Castiel could only roughly translate as “I can’t remember laughing so hard.” The king, noticing the almost petulant frown of the minor god, smiled fondly. He rubbed a slow circle on Castiel's hip with the pad of his thumb. “I want you to bed. Please.”   
  
"There is no bed for miles, but there is an olive grove twenty paces in that direction."  
  
"Show me."   
  
  



End file.
